


An Unwanted Destiny

by Fangirl_In_Disguise



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: After all these years, Awesome Gwen (Merlin), BAMF Morgana (Merlin), F/M, Falling In Love, How Do I Tag, Idiots in Love, Jealous Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Merlin Memory Month, Multi, Mute Merlin (Merlin), Oblivious Merlin (Merlin), Past Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Pining Arthur, Protective Arthur, Protective Knights (Merlin), Uther Pendragon Never Banned Magic (Merlin), i still suck at tags, ill add more as the story progresses, its only temporary tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:59:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_In_Disguise/pseuds/Fangirl_In_Disguise
Summary: Throughout the lands, sorcery is persecuted. It has been this way since before anyone can remember differently. Those who those who are caught using magic are persecuted, and when they are caught they are shown no mercy. For magic users, this means a life of hiding and fleeing. For one young warlock in particular, the hurt and loss he’s faced in the run for freedom has taken its toll.OrPrince Arthur and his knights are on a quest near Camelots borders when they encounter a party of slavers illegally transporting through Camelot lands. After defeating the slavers and setting most of their “cargo” free, the knights meet a young sorcerer bound by magic chains. He refuses to speak or trust his rescuers, which frustrates Arthur to no end, what with Camelot very publicly legalizing magic years ago.





	1. Some Rescue This Is

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of using my post-writers block frenzy to continue my unfinished works, I seem to have started a new one. This is my first Merlin fic however, so I guess it’s overdue anyhow. Also I’m posting through mobile so I blame any issues on that. Enjoy!

The cage that held the young warlock prisoner shook roughly as it wheeled over a particularly uneven patch of ground. Limp from days of malnutrition and unused muscle, the young warlock was barely able to keep from whacking his head against the bars. He sluggishly shifted his weight, the iron cuffs on his wrists pulled at the chains that kept him securely attached to the bars of his prison. The gentle rattle they sung drew the attention of the other occupants; this was the most he’d moved all day.

He stared up through the canopy of ancient trees. Sprouts of spring leaves teased of the warm season to come. Rays of sunlight fought their way through layers of thick branches. Nervous squirrels watched them from far overhead, perched on the sides of tree trunks and long branches. The young warlock didn’t know where their captors were taking them. He hardly cared anymore. The fight he had bared for so long had completely left him. He didn’t ask for any of this. He didn’t want it. All it had done for him is hurt the ones he loved and put him in far too much trouble. The young warlock was done. Done trying to save everyone. Done with hopeful ideation. Done with all the pain he caused done fighting. Done with living.

He barely paid any mind to the others with which he shared his prison. A young woman had joined them a few days ago, although she was hardly old enough to be considered a woman. She was younger than the young warlock at any rate, and he was not yet twenty summers; Not that the universe seemed to give him any slack for it. The young woman’s dark hair and small frame reminded him of Freya, and with great effort he quickly focused his mind on something else. It was too painful to think of her, and he didn’t want to feel anymore. Besides, the rest of the prisoners were hardly going to be like Freyja. They were afraid of him. They knew what he was, and he didn’t attempt to hide it. It didn’t matter anymore, he had finally been caught. His only futures were death or slavery, depending on who has the most in their pockets. 

There were others, tied together, being dragged along behind another cart. Their captors cared little for the ones who could go on no more, and didn’t slow. If he hadn’t already been exposed to gruesome scenes before, the young warlock certainly would have vomited at the sight of the fallen corpses as they were slowly mutilated, dragged endlessly against harsh terrain. But the young warlock had seen such things before, and all he felt was numb.

A gust of wind carried sweet, damp tasting air into the confines of the drab cage. The young warlock tilted his head back and closed his eyes, grateful for the presence of any smell that wasn’t festering and human. If he wished, he could almost convince himself he was free, sitting against a boulder instead of unforgiving bars. But wishes are for children, so the young warlock enjoyed it for the moment, and didn’t mourn when it was lost.

He opened his eyes once again when he heard a shuffling in the bushes they approached. Without otherwise moving, the young warlock felt his hackles rise. The runes carved into the cuffs that chained his wrists may keep his magic at bay, but they didn’t dull his unnatural senses. Something was ahead of them. Another rustle was heard, this one more clear.

“Did you hear that?” One of the captors spoke. He was a fat man with dark hair and clubbed fingers. The young warlock liked to imagine him getting ravaged by a pack of hungry wolves. He walked alongside the cage to the warlock’s right, just out of reach; not that the young warlock would try anything had he been closer.

“Yeah, a squirrel,” Another replied from where he sat upon a beaten horse. The young warlock noted long ago that this one was the most brutal, when he wasn’t riding in front and giving orders, he was teasing and badgering the prisoners. The young warlock had been unlucky enough to be on the receiving end more than once. The rider opened his mouth once more to berate the fat man, something he did quite often, but was interrupted by another, more obvious, rustle. He held up his hand, signaling the others to stop, and with the carts halt, all other noises died.

Before any more words could be spoken, several figures revealed themselves from behind trees. Several men wearing shiny armor and red capes rushed into sight, brandishing expertly crafted swords, which they used to swiftly even out their numbers. An arrow pierced the skull of the fat man, the young warlock watched him become unbalanced and his the ground with no quarrel. His sudden death prompted several other men to take cover and flee. The young warlock jumped and pushed himself against the call of the cage, eyes wide and searching the area. He heard screams from the neighboring cart, and looked just in time to see one of the red-cloaked men cut them free. Behind him was an absolutely massive man who faithful guarded him.

_ ‘Great,’ _ the young warlock thought upon looking closer at their attire.  _ ‘Knights _ .’ He let out a choking breathe, almost a sob. He had escaped knights before, but never alone and never without the use of his magic. They may be freeing the innocent, but it would be obvious upon seeing his shackles what he was, and there was no hope after that. He was in no condition to fight back or make demands. Weeks with little to eat and minor injuries from mistreatment kept him docile and harmless. Knights had no use for magic users, the young warlock could only hope for a quick death.

Before the young warlock could control his panicked breathing, the fight was over. The knights had won, and he was neither disappointed nor relieved, all he felt was low banging in his ears. The big knight approached their cage, and the warlock’s fellow captives moved as far from the door as was possibly while still maintaining a small distance from the young warlock himself. Reaching a hand out, the knight shook the latch for a moment before calling out.

“Elyan!” A shorter knight with darker skin and extremely short hair approached. “You know anything about locks?”

“No, why would I?” Elyan replied, confused.

“Your father was a blacksmith,” the big knight supplied, shrugging one shoulder. Elyan looked at him disdainfully, as though he were about to give a lesson when a third knight interrupted.

“Step aside boys,” the approaching, long haired knight said. He pulled a glove off with his teeth before reaching up to the lock. True to his confidence, the lock was open in seconds. The prisoners barely gave the knight time to step back before they were barreling out of the cage and past the lines of trees, disappearing from existence and leaving the young warlock alone, chains keeping him in place. None of the prisoners had decided to stick around; We’re these knights that feared?

“Are you injured?” The long haired knight asked, curious to why this one stayed put. The young warlock didn’t respond, he turned his head and stared at the grimey straw he sat in. He took slow deep breaths, and willed himself to stop shaking. He did not want to provoke these knights of give them any ideas.

  
  


“Careful, Gwaine,” he heard the big knight say. A moment later the young warlock felt the cage wobble as ‘Gwaine’ carefully hopped into it. The young warlock curled in on himself as the knight drew closer.

“It’s alright,” Gwaine pacified, raising his palms up, one still gloved. “We won’t hurt you.” The young warlock thought that that was very unlikely, and held his arms close to himself. “He’s chained,” Gwaine reported to his companions. He reached out gently, sympathetic to the young warlock’s cowering but not about to leave him. The young warlock jumped when he felt the knight place his ungloved hand on his bony knee, still refusing to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid of us,” Gwaine soothed. He looked at the warlock with growing curiosity and sympathy.

A loud crash had the young warlock whipping around. He saw one of the other carts had dropped some of it's cargo, that must’ve become loose in the excitement. When he turned back, it was to see Gwaine eyeing at the magical carvings in the young warlock’s cuffs.

“He’s a sorcerer,” Gwaine hummed. The other two knights looked at the young warlock with something in their eyes he couldn’t place. The young warlock quickly looked down again, bringing his legs up and holding his arms close. The knights considered him for a moment.

“We should wait for Arthur,” he heard Elyan warn. the young warlock was no fool, whoever this Arthur was would surely wish him harm. To those who had magic, knights were no better than slavers. Whatever they had planned for him would not be pleasant.

Gwaine turned back to the young warlock, seemingly brushing off his companions statement. “How about we get you out of this cage, huh?” He asked, softer than before. The young warlock would not be fooled by false promises of safety. These were his captors, now.

“You must be a long way from home,” Gwaine continued when he received no response. “We can help you, if you’ll let us.” The young warlock stayed still. He’d rather wait for them to drop the facade than suffer through the pain of their false kindness. “You’re in Camelot, you don’t have to be afraid here.” 

There was a sudden yanking on his chains, pulling his wrists against the bars. The young warlock felt adrenaline shoot through his veins, he grabbed onto the sturdy metal to keep his hands from slipping through. After a beat of stillness a sword was brought down, breaking the chains just below where they attached to his wrists. The young warlock jumped away, pressing his back against the hard metal bars, his arms cradled protectively against his chest. Before he could stop it, he felt his magic surface, trying to protect him after being held dormant for so long. The runes on the cuffs glowed red and pain flowed through his veins. His eyes shined gold, and he saw spots on his vision. Just before he fell unconscious, he heard the voice of the larger knight.

“Nice going, Gwaine.”

xXx

The young warlock became first aware of sound. Dulled voices and the gentle scuffing of what sounded like a pot being stirred clumsily. He could tell he was lying on his back, propped up against what was possibly a tree. Then came the smell of sweet, hot stew. The smoke was a welcome break from the cold air that always made his ears feel like they were rotting off. The alluring smell however, wasn’t enough to overcome his learned instincts. He lay as still as a sleeping babe, regaining as much consciousness as he could without sight or movement. The lack of energy in his surroundings told him that he still wore the magic restricting cuffs placed on him all that time ago. The young warlock tried to focus on the voices, made more difficult by what seemed to be the fire not very far from his left side.

“... maybe we’ll cut it all off tonight while he sleeps.”

“I think that would wake him up, Elyan, it would require a lot of maneuvering if we wanted to do it right.”

“Any of you even  _ touch _ my hair and you’re getting castrated.”

“You deserve it.”

“I do no-.”

“He’s awake.”

The young warlock felt his blood pulsing against his skin as the sounds of teasing merriment died. He recognized the three from before, but there were more now. Escape would be impossible without his magic.

The young warlock heard what sounded like someone in heavy armor pushing off from the ground. “You don’t have to be afraid,” the voice claimed. The young warlock heard him approach. He crouched down at just enough distance away that he was out of reach. “We have no intentions of hurting you. We only wish to help.”

Likely story, exactly the same one the other knight had given him. The young warlock wasn’t about to fall for any lies or promises. He was too experienced to believe what anyone said. There was no one living that he trusted, and after so many betrayals he had vowed long ago to never trust again. Nevertheless, the warlock opened his eyes and stared at the man, who he realized was not many years older than himself. He had soft looking golden hair and charming blue eyes. The young warlock hated him all the more for them, appearing so open and kind. He hated this man instantly. Not letting his eyes linger, he stared at the crackling wood of the fire. He knew nobles had a tendency to take eye contact as a challenge to their authority.

The knight sighed, and the young warlock prepared for a blow or harsh words. “Do you know where we are?” The knight asked instead. The young warlock paused for a moment, he thought he remembered the long haired knight mentioning something earlier about their whereabouts, but it had quickly slipped him memory. He remembered the captors saying something about a shortcut through some kingdom, but he hadn’t cared enough to remember it’s name. The young warlock, in fear that the knight wouldn’t like to be ignored, shook his head, so slightly he was almost surprised the man caught it. “You’re in Camelot.” The man announced. “I’m Prince Arthur.”

The young warlock’s eyes snapped up, and he felt himself jump in a panic.  _ Prince _ . He was in front of a  _ prince _ .

“Easy there,” the short knight, Elyan, appeared at his side. He moved to place his hand on the young warlock shoulder to steady him but the young warlock flinched away, his body pushing back against the tree he’d woken against, bringing his knees up to his chest and covered his head with his hands.

“Elyan,” another knight stopped him. The warlock recognized it as the voice that had originally revealed his wakefulness. He could see the edge of his chainmail and muddy boots. “Let me.”

Elyan stood carefully, keeping his eye on the warlock as he left. The young warlock was achingly aware of the princes presence standing off to the side, watching studiously. The new knight lowered himself onto his knees, and ducked his head to the side, trying to meet the young warlock’s eyes. “Hello,” he said, his voice more gentle than the young warlock had heard a man speak in a long time. “My name is Mordred.” He inched closer to the young warlock’s side. “You can trust these men, I promise you…” The young warlock could have scoffed. What was the word of a knight to a sorcerer?

“I’m like you; see?” the young warlock heard a rustle of chainmail can clothing being pulled on. After a moment of contemplation, he cautiously lifted his gaze.

There, on the upper right side of Mordred’s chest, was a Druid’s symbol. The warlock’s eyes lingered for a moment, before finally, timidly, meeting the knight’s gaze. He had silvery blue eyes, and dark thick curls on his head. He appeared to be younger than the young warlock, though the fact that he hadn’t had a decent meal in a while probably made him appear much younger than he actually was.

The young warlock paused a moment. He couldn't trust these men, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t humor them. He pulled up his left trouser leg, uncovering the Druid symbol on the outside of his leg, just above his ankle. He was lucky it was on his left leg, because he was almost certain the right one was broken, something he was hoping to keep hidden for now. Mordred’s eyes found it and he smiled. He looked back up at the young warlock. “Druids are welcome in Camelot, all magic is legal here as long as it’s used for good,” Mordred claimed. “We want to take you with us because we know someone who may be able to get those cuffs of you.”

The young warlock held eye contact, waiting for something in Mordred's face to give. He knew there was no way to remove the cuffs short of cutting his hands off, something he was not willing to do just to get back the one thing that always got him into trouble.

“Do you have a name?” Mordred asked. The young warlock did not reply, he looked into the warm glow of the campfire. He didn’t want to speak, let alone reveal who he really was. Mordred studied him for a moment, pensive, before turning and pointing at each of the knights in turn. “There’s Elyan,” he gestured to the short one standing a few paces away. “Leon and Percival.” Two large knights sitting in front of the fire nodded at him. “That one there is Lancelot, and the ugly one who broke your chains is Gwaine.”

“Okay,” Gwaine said in a stern ‘enough nonsense’ tone. He sighed “That was my bad, Mate. I’m sorry.” He apologized, meeting the young warlock’s gaze before he could look away. He then smiled at the warlock, not unkindly and seemingly apologetic.

“Alright?” Mordred asked, turning back to the warlock, who wasn’t sure if he was being asked if he understands or if he was alright.

“Give him some food already,” Gwaine intruded. “The wind’s picking up, I don’t think it would do him good to be blown away.” Mordred set his face sternly, as if ready to pounce on Gwaine for interrupting, not noticing the way it made the young warlock tense. Mordred looked up when a hand touched his shoulder, seeing Lancelot with a bowl of food.

“Go help Percival with his boots,” he instructed, giving the young knight a distraction from Gwaine, who he was obviously irritated with. Although the young warlock couldn’t imagine why.

“What’s wrong with his boots?” Mordred asked.

“His big feet put a hole in them,” Gwaine commented helpfully.

“Go get more firewood, Gwaine,” Prince Arthur ordered, still standing nearby. The young warlock looked around at the party, uncertain.

“Of course Princess,” Gwaine complied, disappearing beyond the trees. The young warlock was curious, that didn’t seem like the right way to address a prince, yet no one reacted beyond rolling their eyes.

“Here,” Lancelot said upon kneeling next to the young warlock’s other side, surprising him. Lancelot held out the stew, it’s heavenly scent enveloping his senses. He forced himself to lean away from the bowl, his eyes flickered briefly to the stew before trepidatiously looking at Lancelot’s face, looking for signs of malice. Lancelot waited for a brief moment before picking up the spoon and stirring. He brought a spoonful to his own lips and swallowed. “See,” he said. “It’s safe, I promise.”

These knights surely didn’t believe he was so gullible.  _ ‘I promise. We just want to help. It's safe. Trust me.’ _ the young warlock would sooner trust a wild boar than these knights.

Lancelot sighed, actually sounding sad. “I’ll leave it hear, in case you change your mind.” He placed the stew down close to the young warlock. He didn’t look at it. Hunger was a weakness he would not show.

“Suns setting,” Gwaine announced as he reentered with his arms full of sticks. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“Yes Gwaine,” Arthur said, getting to his feet. “Those two things do tend to coincide.” Gwaine rolled his eyes.

The knights started setting up for the night, removing their swords and belts. “I’ll take first watch,” Leon offered. The rest grumbled in reply. Arthur lingered before approaching the young warlock, who hunched over against his tree. He looked at the ground in trepidation as the prince approached. The warlock saw a red cloth dangle in his line of vision.

“Take it,” Prince Arthur said, softly. “It’ll keep you warm.” The young warlock didn’t move. After a moment he felt the cape being gently placed over him. Without another word, Arthur settled down on the other side of the fire. He could make a run for it, but Leon, who the young warlock felt look toward him every few minutes, would surely be able to catch him. If he had his magic. If he weren’t injured. If he had it in him to fight back. Besides, the cloak smelled nice, and was rather warm too. It felt like a long embrace. He really couldn’t help it when he fell off to sleep.


	2. Off to Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The knights struggle to get the young sorcerer to trust them and rush off to Camelot to get him help.

“He doesn’t look so well,” Leon whispered. Gwaine sighed and looked towards where the young sorcerer still lay sleeping. His face was marred with streaks of dirt and filth. His skin was grey and stretched tight against the bones of his face. The only means of knowing he was still alive was the steady rise and fall of his ribs. Arthur listened to the knights speak from where he lay propped up on one arm, having just woken himself.

“It’s no secret magic isn’t so well accepted in the other kingdoms,” Lancelot said. “In my travels, I’ve come across more than one case like this,” he admitted. From where he lay, Arthur could see Elyan shake his head dishearteningly as he stirred what was to be their breakfast. This course of events seems to have struck a chord with his knights, although he could hardly claim he was faring any better. There was something about the boy that just… he couldn’t place it. He was compelled to help him. To free him from his life of fear and hiding. It was hard but Arthur knew the best way to help the boy stay safe was to keep his distance. Arthur may have had good intentions, but to someone who doesn’t know him, kindness may be more threatening than a slap to the face, which is what the sorcerer appeared to be used to judging by his face.

Mordred also seemed to be struggling, which worried Arthur all the more. Every time he looked over at him Mordred looked like he was fighting a headache. “Are you alright?” Arthur asked him eventually. Mordred turned to him. “You seem far away,” Arthur clarified. Mordred looked down before turning back to face the sorcerer, almost dazed.

“I suppose I am,” he replied. “I can hardly imagine what he’s been through… he was so terrified last night. He was practically forcing himself not to trust us. Someone must’ve… hurt him very bad.”

“You can sense all that?” Elyan asked, pausing his stirring. “I would’ve thought the cuffs kept you from any… insight or whatever it is you can sense.”

“It’s more complicated than that I’m afraid,” Mordred said, smiling; Arthur saw it didn’t reach his eyes. “The cuffs only bind him, I can see in but he can’t see out, so I only get… impressions… emotions,” he faded out for a moment, as if he weren’t there at all. After a moment, Mordred continued. “He can’t use magic, or communicate telepathically, but his abilities are still there, and mine are drawn to his.”

“Is that normal?” Percival wondered, forever concerned about his friends.

“For me yes,” Mordred explained. “But I’ve been told I’m somewhat of an unusual case. My telepathy came in naturally quite strong when I was very young. I sense those who practice magic above those that don’t, but more practiced sorcerers are able to shield from me.” Percival hummed; the knights already knew most of that. The small clearing fell silent again, the knights listening to the songs of the morning birds as they danced with each other overhead. Just as Elyan began to serve out breakfast, the young sorcerer began to stir.

Arthur made eye contact with Gwaine and nodded his head towards where the sorcerer lay. Gwaine winked (making Arthur nearly regret the decision to send him) and stood, Elyan passing him a plate. He approached the young sorcerer steadily, making sure not to sneak up on the boy. He looked even worse than the night before, as if he could no longer bear the weight of his own shoulders. Adrenaline and fear had worn him out, leaving him weak and exhausted. He eyed the approaching knight with trepidation. Gwaine put on his charming, signature smile and knelt down next to him.

“Hello there,” Gwaine began. “How are you feeling this morning then, eh?” The sorcerer gave no answer aside from soundlessly pressing anxiously at the raw skin surrounding his cuffs. Gwaine eyed the abused flesh with compassion, his smile disappearing. “We’ll have you all patched up once we get to Camelot. Our physician, Gaius, is especially talented with cuts and bruises, as us knights can attest to.” Gwaine knew from the lack of other sounds that the other knights were listening in. “Just pray and hope he doesn’t give you a tonic, he’s the best physician there is but some of the things he’s made me drink, well, let’s just say he doesn’t waste any effort on their taste.” The young sorcerer didn’t react (unlike the knights, who all looked disdainfully in thought as they remembered some potion or another that Gaius forced down their throats), but Gwaine considered the lack of shaking in the boys shoulders to mean progress.

“I don't suppose you’ll tell me your name?” Gwaine tried. The sorcerer had his arms pressed into his middle protectively, and Gwaine saw him give himself a comforting squeeze. “That’s alright. Are you hungry?” He held out the plate, a gentle offer. The sorcerer turned his nose away and visibly held himself tighter. “You can’t survive very long without food.” Gwaine’s shoulders fell slightly. The sorcerer stayed unmoving. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to have some water then either.” The sorcerer’s eyes flickered and he shifted uneasily, and yet still stayed quite.

“What if we went down to the stream? It’s right over there,” Gwaine gestured to an area behind the tree that the sorcerer couldn’t see. He got no reply. “I’m not hearing a no.” Gwaine put the plate aside and reached for the sorcerer’s arm. The sorcerer flinched but didn’t resist.

“Careful Gwaine,” Lancelot cautioned. The young sorcerer mistakenly took the sentiment as warning that he could cause Gwaine harm, instead of the opposite, which was what had been intended.

“He’s harmless,” Gwaine teased in reply, guiding the sorcerer’s arm over his shoulder. Internally he wondered if the sorcerer’s lack of resistance to his manhandling was from lack of strength or lack of will. “Up we go.” He held the sorcerer by the waist and pulled him up as he stood cautiously, bearing most of the sorcerer’s weight. The sorcerer tried to be more independent and steady himself, but putting pressure on his ankle caused him to suck in a breath as pain stung his nerves.

“Gwaine,” Mordred said angrily. He stood up as if to intervene.

“It wasn’t me!” Gwaine defended, wrapping his arm tighter around the sorcerer’s (emaciated) waist to balance him. “I think it’s his leg.” The young sorcerer felt fear vulnerability as Arthur stood up and approached (to try and help, unknown to him).

“Arthur,” Mordred stopped him. The prince looked back at him. Mordred just shook his head. He could feel the sorcerer’s pain and fear mixing together in a dangerous brew of panic. Arthur got the hint and stepped back.

“Let’s get you to the water,” Gwaine said, and started basically pulling the sorcerer with him in the direction he had gestures to earlier. Leon, who the sorcerer had failed to notice standing a few feet ahead, led the way.

Arthur turned to the rest of the knights once the trio was out of sight. “Elyan,” he turned towards the knight. “Do you think if we pushed our horses that we could get to Camelot before nightfall?” Elyan sighed, standing and putting his hands on his hips.

“I doubt it,” he responded. “But it wouldn’t be too off from it.” Arthur nodded. They were all thinking the same, that they needed to get to Camelot fast.

“We’ll do that then, hopefully Gaius will still be awake,” Arthur decided, the physician didn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night.

xXx

Gwaine gave the young sorcerer some space to drink and clean off a bit, not that he was having much success. His hands were frail and his muscles weak, he was too sickly. The sorcerer cupped water in his hands the best he could and splashed it onto his face, just barely managing to rub away some of the grime that had been there for who knows how long. The two knights pretend to be busy with refilling water skins that were already full.

The sorcerer was confused. He didn’t know what these men wanted from him. He felt too weak to fight them or try to escape. His magic kept him alive for so long already, he could feel it's pressure beneath his skin, trying to escape and help him heal, but it couldn’t, and each second he grew weaker.

The warlock dropped his hands into the cold creek water, closing his eyes and blocked out the sounds of the knight talking and squirrels and birds making the trees rustle. He’d never felt so empty before. He could not feel the magic of the earth around him. It was a sense he had known all his life, it had felt like the ground beneath his feet had been pulled from under him when the cuffs were forced on him.

The sorcerer distantly registered Gwaine approaching again and putting a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t until Gwaine gave him a shake however that he realized he had disassociated. Strange, he usually only did it when he was trying to avoid feeling pain.

Gwaine didn't like how the sorcerer slouched over more and more as the minutes went on. He didn’t feel relief when instead of looking fearful the young sorcerer turned to him and frowned, as if Gwaine was not meant to be there.

“Let’s get you back to camp,” Gwaine said, securing the sorcerer to his side once again.

xXx

“Gwaine, Leon, get your things sorted,” Arthur ordered when they arrived back. “We’re leaving for Camelot as soon as we are ready.”

“Yes Sire,” Leon replied. Gwaine guided the sorcerer down onto a short log. The sorcerer swept his eyes around at the knights activity, wondering how they planned on traveling with him in tow. Gwaine, not realizing the sorcerer was distracted, squatted in front of him and touched above his ankle, intending to remove his boot and hopefully help his foot if he could. Feeling the touch, the sorcerer’s head snapped forewords and he pulled his leg back from the light grasp, almost falling back off the stump. Mordred and Percival cast disdainful glances Gwaine’s way.

Gwaine held his hands up. “‘Was his fault,” he said, throwing his head in the warlock’s direction. Percival shook his head and Mordred’s eyes squinted irritatedly before hecontinuing to shove things in his sack. Gwaine turned back to the sorcerer, his face contorted in consideration before he smiled reassuringly. “It can wait, don’t worry.” He looked at the warlock for a moment, as he always did in case of a reply. A moment later stood and stepped just off to the side where his supplies from last night still lay. The sorcerer, while still distrusting of the knights as a whole, was getting used to Gwaine’s nonsensical behavior. He showed his emotions freely and was therefore almost predictable, and there was often safety in things that were predictable. It would be obvious if something were wrong.

“Well my friend,” Gwaine started to fold his bedroll, “if you’re not going to tell us your name…” he paused, as if giving the boy one last opportunity, “then we’ll have to give you one.”

“Gwaine-,” Mordred started.

“Just a temporary one, a nickname,” Gwaine held up his hands. Mordred opened his mouth to object again.

“No no,” Arthur cut in. “I want to see what Gwaine’s inept imagination comes up with this time.” Gwaine didn’t grace the comment with a reply for once, glad he was being humored for the time. Elyan and Lancelot shook their heads.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Gwaine looked towards the treetops in thought. Hardly a moment passed before a grin morphed onto his face. “I’ve got it: Merlin.”

“Mer-lin,” Arthur repeated. “Isn’t that a type of bird?”

“Tell me it doesn’t fit him perfectly,” Gwaine defended, gesturing to the sorcerer. “And like I said, it’s just a nickname. If he doesn’t like it he can tell us his real one; isn’t that right, Merlin?” He looked towards the sorcerer, who avoided meeting his gaze.

xXx

Much to Gwaine’s joy, the name “Merlin” caught on almost instantly (“Merlin should ride with Mordred, he seems most comfortable around him.” “Don’t listen to him Merlin, he’s a bad influence.” “We’ll stop for lunch when we have to, but we have to get Merlin to Camelot as soon as we can.”). Merlin himself was secretly glad for the new name, it could serve to divert the knights from learning what he was.

When they had approached the horses, that Merlin had somehow failed to notice until now, at first it seemed like Merlin would be afraid of them. It was the first time Gwaine felt any resistance against being dragged by his side. But he was quickly helped up into the saddle in front of Mordred, where he could keep an eye on him.

“Have you ever been on a horse before?” Mordred asked while the other knights were occupied with mounting their own steeds. Merlin opened his mouth to reply before remembering he was afraid of these men and was trying to stay quiet and not incriminate himself. He simply shook his head, glad none of the knights had noticed. His head was swimming, it felt brighter out than it should, the sunlight hurt his eyes. Merlin felt Mordred’s arms press against his sides, securing him in place. He knew he was getting too comfortable around them when he felt himself lean back against Mordred’s chest unintentionally. Merlin stiffened, but Mordred didn’t seem to mind the weight, so he relaxed and told himself to stay that way until they reached Camelot. There was no point in worrying about the inevitable, even if it would be awful.

xXx

Gwaine spoke nonstop. Story after story of the journeys he has gone on, many of them that the knights had already heard before. Arthur was close to snapping at him to shut up, but he knew what Gwaine was doing. He looked back and saw Merlin was leaning back against Mordred's chest, looking almost wistfully around at the trees, which were becoming more and more green and flowered the closer they got to Camelot. Gwaine’s rambling kept the attention on himself, making Merlin feel withdrawn enough from the attention to relax for once. Sunlight shone on his sickly skin, if it weren’t for the marks on his face and the way his cheekbones protruded sharply, he would look almost beautiful.

“Shortcut, Arthur?” Gwaine’s voice grabbed his attention. Arthur turned forewords to realize his staring had caused him to steer his horse to the side and off the path. Arthur corrected himself and sent Gwaine a glare. “Where was I…” Gwaine continued with his ridiculous, fantastical stories; some of which Merlin actually seemed to listen to. The only problem was that each hour that went by he looked weaker and weaker. Mordred was more than supporting his weight, he was actively keeping Merlin from sliding off the horse. Even in the bright sun as they broke through the barren tree line, Merlin’s eyes drooped and his expression grew unfocused. They needed to get to Gaius, fast.

Leon seemed to have the same idea, as after making eye contact with Arthur he announced, “We should pick up the pace if were to make it there before it’s too late into the night.” Merlin perked up a bit at the reminder that they were in fact still going into the heart of a kingdom he knew nothing of that most likely wanted him dead. “Mordred?” Leon wondered. The young knight nodded, answering the silent question. Sure his arms were tired, but it was worth it if it meant getting Merlin to safety.

A few hours before sunset, the knights stopped riding just long enough to feed themselves and give the horses some rest. Merlin still refused any food or drink. Arthur could tell Mordred was tired, both riding and supporting someone for hours was understandably tiresome. That was how Merlin ended up riding with Lancelot when they remounted. His first idea had been Percival, but when said man tried to help Merlin down from the horse, the poor boy almost tipped over the other side trying to avoid Percival’s overly large hands. Arthur often forgets that Percival can be intimidating, for one time seeing the big knight squat down outside the barns making kissy sounds at the cats completely ruins any “tough guy” assumptions.

The respite was brief and tense as the knights rushed through their routines, and soon enough they were back on the path to Camelot. As the hours passed and the sun faded out of sight, Arthur looked to the back of the party more frequently. He felt responsible for Merlin’s safety and desperately wanted to hand him into Gaius’ trusted care. Camelot was only a few more hours away, but Arthur worried about time lost as Merlin seemed to grow weaker, in a way Arthur knew was not just tiredness. He was losing the fight for his life, if he was even fighting. That was a thought Arthur didn’t like.

Merlin perked up hours later when the castle came into view as they crest a hill. Arthur saw Mordred whisper something to Merlin, but Merlin’s expression remained still. It was hard for Arthur to read him in the darkness, but if Merlin’s previous behavior was any indication, he was not looking forward to getting closer.

xXx

Merlin’s stomach burned and his face grew hot as he struggled to breathe. The steps of the castle were quickly getting closer, he could no longer pretend he wasn’t in immediate danger because he was. He would be taken before the king, questioned, and thenburnt at the stake. Merlin’s throat felt tight and ached as his head began to feel wavy. He thought he heard Mordred say something quietly, and then something else louder before the horse stopped and Merlin felt more hands grip him and squeeze.

“Percival-,” Arthur didn’t need to finish the order as Percival stepped up and lifted Merlin, who had been carefully pulled from the horse and was being supported by Leon and Lancelot. Arthur didn’t like the distant look in his eyes and the way he didn’t react to anything. Percivalcradled Merlin to his chest and followed Arthur and Mordred to Gaius’ quarters. Arthur had shouted back at the rest of the knights to get some sleep, but he understood why Mordred felt he needed to be there; after all, many sorcerers seemed to have a strong kinship, one Arthur thought compared to his own bond with the knights.

Foregoing the courtesy of knocking, Arthur flung open the door to see Gaius still awake, but leaning tiredly over his workbench, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

“Arthur,” Gaius said looking up. “You’re not meant to be back for several days.” His eyes scanned Arthur from head to toe for injuries, something Arthur had grown used to from the old man. Gaius dropped his quill onto the desk and sidestepped to go around it when Percival entered carrying Merlin with Mordred on his heels. Gaius pauses his approach and stared for a moment. Merlin was curled up against Percival’s chest and had his head turned into his chest, what could be seen of his face was colored by bruised, but his eyes were closed and he looked nearly peaceful, or he would of it weren’t for how small and sickly he appeared. Gaius quickly snapped into action.

“Put him on the cot here,” he instructed, helping to support Merlin’s head as Percival carefully lowered him. Gaius ordered Arthur and Mordred around to get water and various herbs, his quarters may be cluttered but he made sure everything was always where it should be. Merlin stirred and opened his eyes to see Gaius and Percival standing over him. His eyes briefly scanned the room. He was unable to do anything other than cringe away from them and try and roll away onto his side, which Percival stopped from happening.

“No; please,” Merlin begged. Arthur’s head whipped around, surprised to finally hear Merlin’s voice and worried because of the distress in it. Merlin brought his arms up defensively as Percival tried to steady him, his breathing rapid and choked. 

“Arthur, quickly,” Gaius called, gesturing for Arthur to come. Arthur rushed over and Gaius picked out one of the bottles from his hands to uncap and poured some onto a cloth and held it up to Merlin’s face. Merlin saw it coming, and jerked backwards harshly. Arthur was there and as Merlin sat up he wrapped his arms around him from behind. He felt Merlin go still against him as Gaius sent him into unconsciousness. Merlin’s hair tickled Arthur’s neck and jaw as Arthur held him, he could feel his own heartbeat in his ears as well as feel Merlin’s against his chest.

“Easy now,” Gaius said as he helped Arthur extract Merlin from his arms. Mordred returned with water and a few extra supplies that would come in handy. “Now tell me what happened.”

xXx

Arthur wished he hadn't rushed to tell Gaius everything, because as soon as they were done they were kicked out and given strict orders to rest. Before following them Arthur assigned a guard to Gaius’ chambers just in case the need arose where the physician would need assistance. Mordred stayed standing where he was.

“Is there something else, Mordred?” Gauis asked, raising his brow. Mordred looked up at him, his eyes glazed by the candlelight, Gaius couldn’t read his expression.

“Just… take care of him. Please.” Gaius stared at him before nodding. Mordred gave a small smile to the old man before turning to leave, not before sending the same blank stare in Merlin’s direction once again.

“Well then, Merlin,” Gaius said, using the knights ridiculous pet name. “Let’s see what we can do for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments on the first chapter! I’ve never felt so invested in writing a fic before and I’m glad you guys are enjoying reading as much as I am writing.


	3. New Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin wakes up in an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar people.

The first thing Merlin noted as his consciousness stirred was the sensation of spinning. His mind was floating, bobbing in a vast ocean of darkness. Limbs heavy with the weight of complete exhaustion and defeat, skin burning worse than that time Aithusa accidentally set his arm of fire for a terrifying but ultimately harmless second.

He eventually willed the nauseating sensations down, at least a little, and was able to focus on more pressing matters, particularly what was going on around him. The air was unnaturally warm, smelling strongly of herbs and spices. He heard a hushed voice somewhere behind him, whispering in calm tones. He felt so warm, he barely remembered what it felt like after so long in the open winter air. It was tempting to just allow himself to fall back into slumber. The throbbing in his leg was gone, but when he tried to wiggle his toes he realized the appendage was too numb to feel at all. Before Merlin could panic or form another thought he was startled by a damp cloth as it brushed against his forehead. He jerked away from it and scrambled upwards by his elbows with some difficulty, ignoring the pain he felt in his side. His head whipped around the room, eyes darting frantically, too fast to actually see anything.

“Oh, hey it's okay,” a soft, gentle voice spoke from the direction the cloth had come from. “I’m sorry, I thought you were still sleeping, you’re safe I promise.” Merlin stopped his pathetic struggling and looked at the owner of the voice. Sitting at his bedside was a beautiful young woman, with warm brown eyes and dark curly hair. Her posture radiated warmth and security, her smile sweet like honey. She didn’t appear to mind his staring. “That’s better,” she smiled at him, her cheeks dimpling. Merlin stared at her, the sound of his tight breathing echoing against the otherwise silent atmosphere.

“My name is Guinivere, but most people call me Gwen,” she said. “Can you tell me your name?” Merlin was perfectly happy using the ridiculous name the knights had given him the other day. His name didn’t matter and he didn’t like staying places long enough for people to find out. He stayed silent and unmoving. “That’s alright,” Gwen smiled, but Merlin could see something in her eyes. Disappointment? Sympathy…? “How- are you feeling better this morning?” she asked. Merlin didn’t move his eyes from her as he nodded slowly.

“What about your leg?” A voice behind Merlin piped in. It was gentle and calm, but it still made Merlin whip around to see. An old man crossed the room and movies around the cot to stop beside Gwen. He placed his hand on her shoulder and continued, “Is there any pain?” Merlin looked down at his legs, covered by a thick navy blanket, and realized he was wearing clothes that weren’t his, a simple very shirt and loose fitting trousers. Merlin would prefer pain to the numbness and dead weight that bore down half his leg.

“It should feel numbed,” the old man continued, not caught by his lack of reply. “I used a healing spell to fix the muscles but it will be sensitive for a few days.” Merlin’s head whipped up. A spell? He didn’t hear what the old man said next, but he walked to the end of the cot and moved as if intending to look at Merlin’s ankle. He quickly sat up all the way and drew his feet closer, hugging his knees to his chest. Gwen and the old man exchanged a look, a shroud of darkness seemed to befall them.

“Gaius is the  _ best _ physician in the kingdom,” Gwen said gently, her words soft, but confident. “You couldn’t be in better hands.” Despite her claim, Merlin ignored his longing. It would be so easy to just give himself over to them, to let them do and have whatever it is they want. But that’s not what he promised his mother. He hugged his legs tighter and flickered his gaze between Gwen and Gaius.

After a pause, Gaius continued on as if the exchange hadn’t occurred. “As I said, I fixed your leg, you had quite a nasty sprain. I’m surprised you were able to move around as much as the knights say.” Merlin wasn’t particularly surprised, he had gotten used to the pain after a while. “In addition to that, you have three bruised ribs, one of which is also fractured. I’d like for you to stay here for a few days in order for me to make sure you’re healing properly, although I’m sure you’ll want to be up and about soon. Everything should heal on its own fairly quickly once we get you healthy again.” Merlin held his knees, staring at the ground in front of him through the whole debriefing. “Is there anything I should be aware of? Any injuries I might have overlooked?”

Merlin shook his head in the negative without considering if it was the truth or not, but ultimately he felt fine, if a bit drained of energy. He still had cuts and bruises and a few busted ribs, but it was all numb. “Let me know if you feel any pain or discomfort, if it’s too bad I can give you something more for it,” Gaius offered.

“And if you need anything else,” Gwen spoke up, “just ask me, I’ll be here for the next few days.” Merlin wondered how long he would be staying.

“When the court sorceress returns,” Gaius told Merlin, “she will be able to get those off you,” he nodded to Merlin’s wrists, which he pulled closer to his person.  _ ‘Court sorceress?’ _ he thought to himself.  _ ‘There’s no such thing.’ _

  
  


“Lancelot!” Mordred called. Training had just ended for the morning when he spotted said knight leaving the field. Lancelot turned at the call, and Mordred beckoned him over to the surrounding group, consisting of Arthur, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon, and of course Mordred. “Percival said you went with Guinevere to Gaius’ chambers this morning, did you see Merlin? How is he?” The other knights looked at Mordred, they knew it wasn’t easy; seeing someone you considered kin to be so ill. None of them could deny that they were all curious about the boy. It was one thing to hear about the atrocities committed against magic users outside of Camelot’s borders, but to see first hand the results… it wasn't something that left the mind quickly. Most who made it to Camelot were strong enough to escape in the first place, and assimilated well fairly soon after their arrival. Merlin on the other hand had no say in his good fortune, and still bared the marks of torment. They all wanted to see him get well.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to report,” Lancelot replied, sympathetic to the knight’s eagerness. “I only stayed for a moment, and he was still asleep… Gaius said he managed to get some broth into him last night, and was able to treat his ailments with little issue…”

“But?” Mordred pushed.

“But he’s worried about the shackles. He says they feed off sorcerers magic and energy. It’s preventing Merlin from healing properly.”

“And there’s nothing he can do?” Elyan wondered. Lancelot shook his head, sighing.

“He says if he tried to remove them himself it could be dangerous, and that he’d rather wait for the court sorceress to return,” Lancelot answered.

“When is she due back again?” Gwaine asked.

“The day after tomorrow,” Arthur replied.

“I hope he can hold on that long,” Elyan said. “He wasn’t exactly being cooperative yesterday.”

“Well now that he’s here, I’m sure he’ll realize he is among friends,” Arthur assured, clapping Elyan on the shoulder. He smiled, not convinced himself. As prince regent, he felt responsible for all of Camelot’s citizens, as well as if not in particular those who sought refuge within its borders. Merlin was the prime example of what horrors people commit when they are filled with prejudice and hatred, and it was Arthur’s duty to prevent such things in his kingdom and protect those who need it. Arthur’s chest tightened at the thought of the fates that had possibly awaited Merlin had they not rescued him when they did. Would he have died in that cage? Would he have been sold as a slave? Would he have ever found freedom at all?

“Prince Arthur,” an approaching guard greeted as he bowed. “The king summons you to Lady Morgana’s chambers urgently.”

“Morgana?” Mordred echoed.

“Why, what’s happened?” Arthur demanded.

“I don’t know Sire, I was only told your presence was required urgently,” the guard explained. Arthur bid a short farewell to his friends before taking off in the direction of Morgana’s chambers, letting Mordred follow. 

  
  


Gwen spent the morning trying to earn Merlin’s trust. It wasn’t easy. He wouldn’t let Gaius touch him and despite her rational explanation that poisoning him at this point would make no sense, he refused to eat. But after a while she was able to get away with little things here and there. Brushing a stray hair from his forehead, her arm pressed against his as she leaned into his ear and whispered about sneaking him something sweet later if he promised not to let Gaius know (knowing he wouldn’t care), a brush of fingers against his leg as she adjusted a blanket that had gotten a bit twisted. That one had caused him to jump, apparently despite it happening within this line of sight his thoughts were elsewhere. Gwen wondered what sort of things he thought about. She wondered if she really wanted to know.

She left a plate on the small table by his cot in hopes her absence would make him more at ease, although she doubted it would make a difference. She approached Gaius and whispered her concerns.

“If we can’t get him to eat on his own accord,” Gaius replied hesitantly, “he won’t get better in time.” Gwen frowned. She looked over at Merlin who was sitting up, just staring at the metal cuffs that must serve as a reminder to the horrors he faced. He was startled by a knock at the door, eyeing it intensely until it swung open and a familiar face stepped in. A knight, one that he vaguely remembered from his freeing and subsequent capture.

“Lancelot,” Gwen said, approaching him while holding the skirt of her dress. Lancelot took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. They exchanged a sweet smile, one shared only between those closest to each other’s hearts. Merlin’s felt like an intruder witnessing the tender moment. Lancelot turned to him.

“You look better,” he said, sounding almost relieved, although Merlin couldn’t fathom why. But it was probably true, Merlin definitely felt better. The un-disturbed sleep and gentle broth (as well as a good hair washing) had done him wonders. And yet Lancelot couldn’t help but notice the hollowness of his cheeks and the way bruises flirted beneath the skin around Merlin’s eyes and jaw. None made the pressure in his chest worse than the sight of bruises in the unmistakable shape of fingers around Merlin’s neck, most of which had been hidden behind weeks of accumulating dirt and other filth. Lancelot must have had some of his distress, or perhaps anger, in his posture, for a moment later he felt Gwen lean into his side and snuggle her head against his shoulder. When he looked down at her she smiled at him, but he could see the sadness in her eyes.

“I trust my wife has treated you well,” Lancelot said, turning back to Merlin.  _ Wife _ . This sweet young woman was married to a  _ knight _ . Merlin had never known a knight to be anything but boorish and uncaring, and yet there was not a line of uncertainty in her face. She was completely at ease to be at his side.

“She’s been wonderful,” Gaius replied in lieu of Merlin’s silence. He was off in a corner reading from an ancient book with some sort of magnifying glass. “Thank you again Guinevere for helping me, there’s just so much more to get done whenever Alice is away.”

“Oh it’s no trouble Gaius,” Gwen smiled. “It’s nice to be helpful. Besides, Merlin here is just a sweetheart, aren’t you Merlin?” She detached herself from Lancelot and made her way over to Gaius, not without putting her hand on Merlin’s head and giving his hair a playful pet. Merlin surprisingly didn’t fear the touch, and his eyes followed her for a moment until he was unable to keep himself from sending Lancelot a baffled expression. Lancelot shrugged and smiled. He knew the effect Gwen had on people and he was proud of her for it.

Merlin was just thinking how he didn’t like being near so many people when the door opened and Prince Arthur strode in, followed by Sir Leon. At the sight of the prince Merlin felt his heart beat faster, he fisted his hands into the fabric of the cot beneath him.

“What is it Arthur?” Lancelot asked, Gwen sent a concerned look Merlin’s way. Merlin peeked out from behind Lancelot at Arthur before quickly leaning out of sight when Arthur actually looked at him. Arthur sighed.

“I just have to ask the boy some questions,” Arthur said, his hands raised in consolation. Gwen stalked forward.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she prohibited. “Arthur Pendragon how could you even think of such a thing right now?” Merlin was startled by Gwen’s transformation, from kind and gentle to stern and protective. He’s silently glad she hadn’t used that voice on him.

“I know it’s not ideal-.”

“He’s in no shape to tell anybody anything. He’s  _ terrified _ Arthur!”

“-but if we don’t do it now, we may not have the chance to later.” Gwen stared at him, Arthur hoped she understood his meaning. He didn’t want to cause Merlin any discomfort, but according to Gaius, Merlin could die before the court sorceress returned, in which case it's better to learn what they can now, and it was Arthur’s intention to make it as painless as possible for Merlin.

Gwen looked back at Merlin, who met her gaze, something Arthur wondered at, but ultimately wasn’t surprising. “Only if I can stay with him,” Gwen said as she turned back to face Arthur. Something in the prince’s face softened. Merlin gawked. ‘ _ He wouldn’t possibly listen to a serving girl.’ _

“Of course,” Arthur said.

Lancelot moved to the side to lean against Gaius’ workbench while Arthur and Leon pulled up chairs to sit in front of Merlin, Leon further behind and with some rolled up papers he held in his lap. Gauis stayed back, quietly sorting herbs as he listened. Gwen sat close to Merlin’s side, but was careful to give him breathing room. He tried to focus on the smell of what seemed like soap and wildflowers coming from her person, and for some reason it comforted him. Merlin sat with his legs crossed beneath the blankets, with his hands squeezing together on his lap. Arthur eyed the metal cuffs with a deep anger and disgust he had never experienced before. Merlin avoided everyone’s eyes in favor of staring at his own hands.

“I know this is difficult,” Arthur started.  _ ‘You have no idea,’ _ Merlin thoughts snapped. He was so tired. Tired of running. Tired of losing people. Tired of the destruction that followed him everywhere he went. “So for everyone’s sake, I’ll try and make this quick. Does that sound alright?” Merlin didn’t reply. Arthur tried not to be too disappointed. “Do you know who those men were that we rescued you from? Do you know where they were taking you?” Merlin didn’t answer, and visibly shook after the silence was allowed to build. It hardly mattered that he did not answer. He may actually not know, but Arthur had a good idea. With the direction the slavers were heading and the apparent need to magically bind him, there was really no other option.

Cenred was known to have... a special interest in those with impressive magical abilities. If they didn’t prove themselves useful or entertaining, he had them killed. If they did, he tortured and enslaved them for his own gain. Merlin was definitely interesting.

“Who was it sending you there?” Arthur continued on. Merlin didn’t reply, terrified to say the wrong thing. “We have reason to believe the men holding you were in affiliation with a very powerful slave trader in Essetir, he’s been known to conspire with King Cenred and-.”

Merlin’s head jerked up slightly, and he stopped hearing whatever Arthur said afterwards. Had he really been in Essetir? His mother told him about Ealdor, where he was born, a small village in the kingdom of Essetir. He remembered then. Cenred was just a prince at the time, he must’ve been crowned after they fled. Had he really made it all the way back?

“-only able to get to you because the slavers decided to cut through Camelot lands,” Arthur continued, unaware his words fell on def ears. He looked at Merlin studiously as he spoke, looking for any reaction. He could hear his shaky intakes of breath, the only sound other than Arthur’s own voice. Merlin’s chin rested on his chest, hiding his face from view, but in his head Arthur could still see his bruised face, a color pallet of yellows and purples, blues and greens. Not to mention the bloodied cuts and scratches that marred every inch of his visible skin. Even with his head hung Arthur could make out the bruises on Merlin’s neck where someone had choked him, the same bruises Lancelot had eyed earlier.

“They work for a man called Jarl,” Leon cut in after Arthur paused a little too long to be appropriate. Merlin felt his shoulders grow heavier at the sound of that name, and resisted the urge to scratch at his cuffs where they dug into his skin, a habit he had picked up since they were first forced on him. He knew Jarl. He knew his cruel laugh, his smelly breath, his revolting methods of entertainment. Merlin didn’t see what was so amusing about men killing each other, or torturing sorcerers who can’t defend themselves. “Do you know him?” Leon asked. After a pause, Merlin nodded, giving into the urge and grabbing his wrist, squeezing the damaged skin.

If it weren’t for the damned cuffs he never would have gotten caught.

Arthur watched as Merlin grasped his wrists, wincing in pain at his own touch. Gwen reached over and placed her own hand gently on Merlin’s arm. He flinched at first but didn’t seem to mind it. He stopped squeezing, and took a deep breath before letting it out, shoulders sagging.

“Merlin,” Leon said. Merlin head tilted up just enough that he could look at Leon’s feet, further behind Arthur. “Do you think you could find where Jarl is on a map?”

Why did they want to know that? Even if Merlin could tell them where he was, they couldn’t just cross the border into a neighboring kingdom. He shook his head.

“Please Merlin, can you try?” Arthur implored. “If you could at least try- it would mean a lot.” Merlin licked his lips. He knew he couldn’t help. He had no idea how. He wasn’t paying attention to where they took him, he hadn’t cared, he had nowhere to go back to.

But there was no harm in trying. Maybe it would keep them placid for a while longer if he cooperated.

So he nodded, faintly enough that for a moment he thought they wouldn’t see it, but a moment later Arthur was standing and holding his hand out to Leon, who handed him the papers he brought with him. Merlin realized now that they were maps. Arthur crouched down on the floor in front of Merlin, spreading out one of the papers across the short side table and part of Merlin’s pillow. Merlin couldn’t help the way he shifted backward from the prince, but Arthur didn’t react. Merlin flickered his eyes up to take a look. There were markings on the maps that looked fresh, juxtaposed to older, more faded drawings and notes. Merlin didn’t have much experience with maps, but he could make out three castles, some bodies of water, and a lot of forest. Arthur gestured to one of the newer markings, surrounded by trees.

“This is where we found you,” he said. “And  _ this _ ,” Arthur pointed towards a large castle, “is the Castle of Fyrien. If they were taking you to Cenred, that’s where you were headed,” he said confidently. “Does anything over in this area look familiar?” Merlin studied the area indicated. It was large and looked mostly the same, a few hills, some creeks. After a minute of silence, Arthur started talking about the lands, pointing out rivers and settlements that meant nothing to Merlin. His eyes wandered over the map, looking for anything familiar.

Arthur stopped talking after realizing Merlin’s gaze wasn’t following where he was indicating, but instead was focused on a mountain range just within Camelot’s borders. A bunch of caves emerging from the cliffs caught his attention.

“Merlin?” Arthur said.

**“He’s getting away!”**

**“Well go after him, you cowardly fool!”**

**“There’s Wilddeoren in them caves, I ain’t going in there. If they don’t eat ‘im, he’ll freeze by nightfall. He’s as good as dead.”**

Merlin blinked, forcing the memory from his brain, instead looking at the lands beyond the border. Sure enough, it was the kingdom of Mercia.

“The Tunnels of Andor?” Leon questioned. “Have you been there?”  _ ‘Probably _ ,’ Merlin thought to himself. He wandered those tunnels for hours upon hours, running from wilddeoren, looking for any light to lead him out. He hadn’t exited through the tunnels where the map indicated; there was a mountain range behind them that wasn’t quite right in shape or placing to be the same one Merlin had emerged from. The tunnels must have gone further than the map is aware. At some point, he had crossed from Mercia into Essetir, and left the caves there, when and where was the mystery. How far into Essetir did the tunnels reach?

Lancelot pushed himself from the workbench and approached. “There are more tunnels, they’re all connected.” He looked over Merlin’s shoulder at the map, and gestured to a hilly area further into Essetir. “They open up somewhere in these hills.” Merlin’s eyes flickered back and forth from the mountains to the other landmarks near it, trying to find any familiarity between them. Lancelot, ever helpful, traced his fingers down an invisible path. “A river runs down this direction.” His trailing ran past a field, and Merlin’s eyes backtracked, sure enough, further from the river, before the field, was a group of hills, just small enough to obscure a hideout. Arthur followed his head and eye movements.

“There?” He asked, placing his finger on the hills. Merlin let out a heavy breath and nodded, thinking about exactly what lay between those hills. He couldn’t believe he found it, it was so long since he had any idea of his surroundings outside of what he could see in the distance. Arthur pulled the map towards him again. “That’s right by the border,” he stated, sounding almost like it was good news.

“Smart, if you think about it,” Leon added. “Makes for a quick escape if Cenred ever decided Jarl was more trouble than he’s worth.”

“Yes, but unfortunately for him, it also gives us easy access,” Arthur said standing and begging to roll up the paper. “We need to get this to the council,” Arthur told Leon, who followed his lead and stood, adjusting the sword on his hip. Arthur turned around towards the door before stopping, he looked back and knelt down, placing his hand on the edge of Merlin’s cot. “Thank you, Merlin,” he said. Merlin’s eyes met his for the first time, giving Arthur pause. Merlin looked wary and hesitant, but there was a resilience in his gaze that gave Arthur pause.

“Sire?” Leon said, interrupting Arthur’s thoughts. Arthur snapped out of his state and cleared his throat.

“Well then,” he stood up again. “We should get going.”

“We should,” Leon mused, smirking. Arthur squinted at him and bumped their shoulders together as he passed, Leon sent a nod to the rest of the room's occupants before following behind him.

“I should get going as well,” Lancelot groaned, glancing out the window at the darkening sky. I promised Gwaine I’d go with him to the Rising Sun.” He stood and approached Merlin and Gwen, who rolled her eyes fondly. Lancelot leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

“Try and get him home safely this time,” she teased.

“ _ That _ wasn’t my fault,” Lancelot insisted.

Gwen hummed, smiling ruining her mock glare. Lancelot returned the smile brightly and walked towards the exit.

“Shut the door on your way, will you?” Gaius asked.

Lancelot nodded. “Of course. Bye Merlin.”

Merlin’s head snapped up at being addressed. He watched blankly as Lancelot gave him a smile as well before shutting the door as he left. Merlin stares at the door and dug his nails into the palms of his hands. 

“Gwen, could you come here please?” Gaius asked.

“Of course.” Gwen stood up, and despite her caution Merlin still flinched. She held in a sigh and went to help Gaius with his potions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely thought I was gonna post this sooner and all I can say for myself is I joined a new fandom so I was busy diving into that. It’s all good though, I’ve done a lot of planning on this story since the last update, I have no idea how long this fic will be in the end but I plan to see it through:) And thank you for all the lovely comments on the last chapter, I love getting feedback


	4. Giving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin gets restless staying in one place for too long, but is unable to get away due to his injuries and the vigilant eyes of Gaius and Gwen, but is forced to re-consider his assumptions after an interesting encounter with a servant. Meanwhile, Arthur and others wonder about his situation before Camelot.

Gwen gently flipped through a book where she sat at a table, some distance behind Merlin’s cot. She hummed a slow tune, her voice soft and lulling. He didn’t recognize the song, but the tune was slow and melodious, filling the room with a sense of tranquility. Gaius had some time ago to run some sort of errand, leaving Merlin with the opportunity to think about his encounter with the knights. Oh, he didn’t care what they wanted with the information he had given them. No, it was their behavior that puzzled him. If Merlin did not know better from his previous experiences with knights, he would’ve fallen right for it. The fake promises of safety, the trickery. In all his other encounters however, the game never lasted this long. Typically a knight would grow tired of keeping his patience, and Merlin would be the unlucky one on the brunt end of his fist. These knights did not have a single crack in their facade. Was he some sort of challenge for them? Were they trying to see how long it would take to win his trust? Make him actually sympathize with them before they revealed their true intentions? It would not work.

Merlin craned his neck to look over at Gwen. The sun was gone, the only light was emitting from a few candles Gaius had lit earlier, and one on the table by Gwen. Merlin had not properly examined the room until it was cast with eerie shapes and shadows, something he realized then was a grave mistake. There were strange masks hung up on an opposite wall, and felt their eyes staring into him. Ever since the tunnels, darkness was something he greatly feared. Stumbling blindly and fearfully, only the small hand clutching his leading him on.

**“You’ll have a better chance if you leave me behind.”**

**“Hush.”**

**“** ** _Leave me_ ** **.”**

**“** ** _No._ ** **”**

Merlin shook his head, as if to jostle the memory away. He found it was easiest to focus on staying alive and hidden when he didn’t dwell on the past. But some memories still managed to sneak up on him; some faces that he couldn’t forget.

Merlin looked back at Gwen. She seemed distracted enough, at least to the point of not registering his glances. He wondered how much movement he could get away with before she noticed, and if she did, if she would be able (or even willing) to overpower him in his current state. His ankle was still numb, but putting slight pressure against it with the heel of his other foot caused noticeable discomfort. If he tried to make a run for it, how far would he get before the pain would get to be too much? If he waited too long, Gaius would come back, and Merlin wasn’t dumb enough to underestimate a man just by his age or looks. No, if he was going to go, it had to be now.

Merlin peeked over his shoulder one last time. Gwen had one elbow on the table, with her cheek resting in her hand. She was still humming the same tune and flipping steadily through page after page. Merlin took a deep, tense breath and braced his arms on the sides of his bed, ready to lift.

That moment, Gaius walked through the door. Merlin deflated and fell back as a shock of adrenaline pounded up his body, a stinging pulse against his skin where it was bound. Gaius paid him no mind as he made his way back to the work bench, Gwen smiling kindly at him as he passed.

“Goodness it’s so late already,” Gwen realized, stretching her arms above her head as she peered out the nearest window. “Do you need me to do anything else, Gaius before I go?” She asked.

“No, thank you Guinevere,” he replied. Gwen stood and picked up the book she was reading, and placed it atop a small stack on the table. She walked over to a basket that was next to the stairway that led up to the bookshelves, and took a shawl from the basket, wrapping it around her shoulders before crouching down and taking the basket by the handle.

“See you tomorrow, Gaius,” she called, holding the basket with both hands as she turned to go. Gaius nodded in acknowledgment. Gwen’s gaze shifted to Merlin. “Goodnight Merlin.” He didn’t reply, but for some reason she still smiled brightly at him. His heart was still hammering by the time she walked across the room and shut the door behind her. Merlin let out a deep breath, unintentionally catching Gaius’ attention.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asked. Merlin jumped at his voice. “You’re looking a bit pale.” Merlin shrugged and turned away, wishing the old man's attention would go anywhere else. He stared at a shadowy wall and blindly fiddled with one of his cuffed wrists, running a thumb over the runes and carvings in the metal.

Gaius didn’t prod further, but Merlin felt his gaze boring into him from across the room, and he scolded himself for losing his only window of escape in the foreseeable future. Eventually his eyes became bored of the wall, so he decided to lie down and pretend there wasn’t a strange man just a short distance away, watching his every breath for all he knew. In spite of not being tired before, Merlin found being on a cot much more comfortable than any of the other places he’d slept in the recent past. His eyelids slowly grew heavier, and he began to drift off. He tried to think of something happy to fall asleep to, but even his happy memories were tainted by the despair of foresight. He missed being young enough to not understand the gravity of the world around him.

Merlin was close to falling into a sleep that would’ve undoubtedly been filled with nightmares and memories, when a gentle but clear knocking came from the direction of the door. Merlin felt his consciousness return fully, his magic tingling beneath his skin. He managed to keep his eyes closed and listened intently, his heartbeat quickening.

“Come in,” Gaius called out. There was the squeak of the door opening, followed by footsteps. After a moment of listening Merlin also heard what sounded almost like a gentle swishing, as if something was gliding across the floor behind the person.

“Ah, Jonas,” Gaius greeted. Merlin felt the air shift as the person walked past him. He cracked his eyes open just slightly, unable to keep his curiosity at bay. Standing in front of Gaius was a man with short curly hair, and ears that came to a small point at the tips. “What can I do for you at this hour?” Gaius asked.

“It’s the lady Morgana, I’m afraid,” Jonas said. His voice possessed by a gruffness that gave Merlin the urge to clear his own throat sympathetically. Gaius raised an impressive brow. “She had a restless sleep last night. I’ve come to ask for a sleeping draught on her behalf,” Jonas explained.

“Of course,” Gaius said, setting off to a shelf of supplies. “Is it nightmares again? Does she remember them?” He asked without looking up as he sorted through ingredients.

“She says it was all a blur. Objects she didn’t know the importance of, faces, some she recognized, others…” Jonas let the sentence finish itself.

“Has she been wearing her bracelet?”

“As far as I’m aware, yes.” Jonas confirmed.

Gaius hummed, deep in his thoughts as he worked. It had been quite some time since a dream was strong enough to get past the powerful magic her bracelet contained. Gaius poured the draught into a glass container and corked it.

“Here,” Gaius handed Jonas the draught. “For all the good it’ll do. And if you could, ask her to come see me if she remembers anything important, and if the dreams return tonight that she should not hesitate to stop by.”

“There was one thing she mentioned.” Gaius waited. “Arthur,” Jonas said. “She couldn’t explain it, but after she woke, she was desperate to see him.”

“What did she want from him?” Gaius inquired. 

“Nothing,” Jonas replied. “She just needed to see him for herself, to make sure he was alright, it seemed.” Gaius hummed, his expression wary.

“Let's just hope it doesn’t become a regular occurrence.” Gaius said, mulling over Jonas’ words. “The king fears his safety enough as it is.”

Jonas grunted in agreement. “Goodnight, Gaius.”

“Goodnight,” Gaius echoed. He turned and retreated into the storage room by the back corner, trusting Jonas to see himself out. As Jonas turned to leave, Merlin unintentionally brought his hands together at an angle that caused the cuffs to clang together beneath the blankets. The sound barely drew Jonas’ attention; an unfocused turn of his head was the only indication that he even heard it. Merlin was about to let out a relieved breath when Jonas suddenly stopped, his eyes focused in an intense stare on Merlin. Without breaking eye contact, Jonas stepped forward with his head tilted to one side. Merlin gasped through his nose as Jonas grabbed his chin and tilted his head back into the thin pillow beneath him. Merlin found himself unable to look away, his eyes jumping back and forth between Jonas’ as he was studied with an eerie stillness, a hand holding him sternly in place.

Jonas inspected Merlin’s face another moment, then smirked, his eyes shining with something unidentifiable. Whatever he was looking for, he had found it. All at once Jonas dropped Merlin’s chin and leaned back, the smirk never leaving his lips. “Interesting,” he muttered. Merlin took quick breaths as he watched the man take another step back, before huffing and turning away. Struggling to breathe, Merlin sat up as he heard the swishing sound again, and his eyes trailed to the floor where he saw something drag behind Jonas, peeking out from beneath his robes. It was a tail. Jonas had a tail.

xXx

“Cenred?” Catrina said, surprised. She had one hand resting on the back of her throne and the other holding the embroidered fabric of her dress. Arthur nodded. “Well what would  _ he _ want with the boy?” The room consisted merely of the king, queen, and Arthur himself. Leon was supposed to be there, but Arthur had excused him some time ago to deal with a commotion at the tavern that Gwaine was undoubtedly a part of.

“Is it possible that there's more to him than he’s letting on?” Uther questioned. Arthur held back a sigh.

“The thought has crossed my mind as well,” he admitted. “But I don’t believe he has any ill will for Camelot. He just seems… confused.”

“I understand,” Uther said. “But there’s no way to be sure. We know nothing about him, and you know how outsiders feel about us.” It was an unfortunate truth; even sorcerers were against Camelot’s acceptance of magic, as odd as it might sound. Centuries of hate and betrayal led many of them to see peace between those with magic and those without as a childish and unrealistic dream. One would always dominate and oppress the other. It took time before a balance between the two came to be. And even then many sorcerers believed it was only a matter of time before Camelot would exterminate every last magical being within its borders.

“Of course, Father,” Arthur agreed. “But we can’t  _ not _ help him-.”

“No of course Arthur,” Uther agreed. “I just meant,” he placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, “we should just keep an eye on him. There’s no harm in staying cautious, he’ll still be welcome here, all those who seek refuge are.”

“Sounds more like an abduction than refuge to me.” Arthur had to force himself to keep from rolling his eyes as he turned to Morgana, wondering how he hadn’t heard the click of her heels.

“So kind of you to join us, My Lady,” he said with a sarcasm that only Morgana would notice. She gave him that stupid smile that squished her face that she did when she wanted him to know she was mocking him. He mirrored the expression as she finished her approach.

“What matters is he’s here and he’s safe,” Uther cut in, trying to keep the peace.

“Of his own volition?” Morgana wondered, he tone dripping with mock innocence, not sparing Uther a glance as she faced off with Arthur.

“He’s wounded Morgana, you couldn’t expect us to leave him there. He needed  _ help _ .”

“Oh Mordred told me all about your little  _ ‘rescue- _ .’”

“That’s  _ enough _ ,” Uther adjourned. Arthur and Morgana stared. “What’s done is done. I don't want any more arguments about the past, so  _ stop antagonizing _ one another.”

“Yes father,” they said in unison.

“Why don’t we all get some rest, hmm?” Catrina suggested as she approached them, hoping to further dissipate the Pendragon temper from the room. She put her hand on Uther’s arm and took his hand. “It’s getting rather late, and we still have preparations to attend to tomorrow.”

Uther turned to her and smiled. “You’re right of course, as usual.” He brought the back of her hand to hip lips, Morgana and Arthur made faces at each other while he was distracted.

xXx

The next morning, Merlin was still blurry eyed and groggy when Gaius brought over a plate with a modest breakfast. “We need to get your strength up,” he said. Merlin eyed the plate, knowing he should indulge the aching in his stomach, but something in him felt the need to further torture himself, that way at least someone would be. He turned away. Nonplused, Gaius put it on the bedside table next to a fresh cup of water. Merlin expected him to walk away and work on whatever it is he kept busy with, but instead he pulled up a nearby stool and sat.

“You still don’t believe you’re safe here.” He stated. Merlin, once again, said nothing. He was getting better at maintaining eye contact though, at least briefly before looking away again, and Gaius thought of that as a small victory. And while it was something, small victories don’t keep a person alive when said person is also refusing to eat. Gaius needed to prove to Merlin that he was worthy of trust. It was possibly a better job for Gwen; she had a special bedside manner that Gaius could not hope to match, not to mention her natural advantage of being an attractive young woman. However, Merlin had just woken, his guard was lowered, and what person isn’t tempted by a good meal after a long night? There would not be a better time to attempt it himself, and if he failed, he failed.

Oblivious to Gaius’ thoughts, Merlin was getting tired of holding himself up by the elbows all the time. The trouble was, he felt light headed whenever he attempted to sit up fully. It was unpleasant enough being so close to someone he viewed as a threat, but in his weakened state Merlin felt trapped.

Gaius watched him, and Merlin saw something flicker across his face. He had seen the expression from him a few times before, but he had yet to understand its meaning. The longer he laid there however, the less threatening it seemed. In fact, now that he no longer felt like the charade would come crashing down with no warning, he was able to slow his observations and better categorize the finer details around him. He must’ve been rubbish at it however, because from what he could tell the expression seemed almost…  _ fond _ ; but in that exasperated way Will’s mum always had whenever he and Merlin had gotten up to mischief. But why would Gaius have that look for him?

Gaius spoke next with a wistful note to his voice. “My wife, Alice, is much more knowledgeable in healing magic than I, her skills with it are… unmatched,” he said, fondness woven into his words. Merlin’s gaze flickered over to him, before staring firmly at the wall. Magic was something he would rather avoid discussing, in all circumstances. “She could have done a better job of your ankle than I, but she’s away for the moment and I couldn’t wait for her return. You were rolling around in your sleep quite a bit and could have damaged it further.” Merlin’s sleeping habits were not news to him. He knew he was restless. He often had nightmares of all the deaths he wrought, the people he’s lost. He tried not to dwell so much in his waking moments.

“She was lucky you know,” Gaius continued. “Even before magic was legal, it was widely accepted, even if people rarely spoke of it out loud. Alice was not one to shy away from danger if it means helping others. For many years she worked from the shadows, helping those who no ordinary physician would be able to; she was never one to shy away from helping others in the face of danger. So when the king actually  _ embraced _ magic, many who knew of her gifts expected her to be one of the first to step forward.” Merlin shuffled, adjusting his posture as he peeked at Gaius from the corner of his eye, but the old man’s gaze was unfocused in the direction of the floor. He paid Merlin little mind as he continued. “And of course the people that she helped wanted her to take credit for all the good she had done. Several weeks went by, and Alice never even brought it up. She didn’t step forward — and very few people did. I didn’t want to pressure her, but every time I brought it up she brushed the topic aside. So one day I asked outright: why, now that magic was legal, did she still hide herself and her gifts? There were dozens of people in the city alone who would give testimony to her goodwill. It took a little explanation, but eventually I understood.” Gaius made eye contact with Merlin, who found it in himself to hold his gaze.

“I understand Merlin. You need time to accept this world. It’s hard to trust change, especially from those who you expected to hide from forever. To convince yourself that an old foe can be a good friend is a difficult thing… It may take a while, but I believe you can find a place here, where you don’t have to hide anymore.” Merlin looked away, trying to rationalize Gaius’ words with all that he had experienced and been taught about people. “But for that to happen, you need to take care of yourself, and that means eating.” Gaius reached over and slid the plate closer to Merlin, who seemed more interested in Gaius’ words than food. Gaius wondered if he had gotten through to him with something he said. “I must get back to my work now, I’ll leave this here for you.”

Merlin watched Gaius’ back as he retreated to the far side of the room. He knew he could not stay. There was no way for him to live here. It was not safe.

But… maybe Gaius was right about one thing. If Merlin continued to be stubborn about eating, pretty soon he would be too weak to lift his head up. The urge to just let himself starve to death flared up again. He was so tired of living the way he did. Running, hiding, keeping everyone at an arm's length for their safety as well as his own. Merlin’s not sure how many people have died because he allowed himself to get close. No matter these people’s intentions, the sooner Merlin gives in and allows himself to heal, the sooner he can run out and move on. But Merlin knew himself. When he gives in he gives too much, and someone always gets hurt. If these people aren’t what they claim to be, Merlin would be the one getting hurt. If they are, if they really just want to help the lost and vulnerable, then  _ they _ are the ones who will get hurt, and he would not want that to happen. No, no giving in. He needed to leave, he had to keep moving or else he could be caught again. Found by  _ him _ . Or worse, he could stay until these people discovered what he was.

The breakfast did look good though. Some tomato, a slice of bread, and a bit of cheese arranged neatly apart from one another. The portions were small, but given his diet the past few weeks consisted of nothing, more nothing, and some grime here and there, Merlin knew his stomach would be too sensitive to take in much else. Would eating really be giving in? He would only be doing it for his own sake, just because it was also what they wanted him to do does not mean it’s strictly bad, right?

His internal struggle was slowed by Gwen’s entrance, the sudden sound of the door making him flinch. “Good morning Gaius,” she said as she re-shut the door. “‘Morning Merlin.”

Gaius looked up from his work, “Good morning Guinevere.” Her shoes clicked against the floor as she walked. Merlin felt a little better with her presence, Gaius seemed nice enough but Merlin had enough experience with strange men to feel a little uneasy being at his mercy alone, even after all that had been said. Gwen’s appearance offered a warm and gentle buffer between them, as unsettling and suspicious as her kindness was.

Gwen removed her shall as she walked, and as she passed Merlin’s cot she hesitated as her eyes landed on his untouched plate. Her face set like she had come to a decision, and then reached one of her calloused hands down and popped one of the cheese crumbs directly into her mouth. Merlin’s eyes followed her intently as she continued past him with an almost cheeky casualness. Was she  _ insane _ ? What if Gaius had poisoned it? Was she nïeve enough to have no doubt about the food not being dangerous? Merlin’s nutrient starved brain struggled to move past the shock. Maybe she knew it was poisoned, and had taken an antidote to keep her from suffering the effects. Or maybe she knew which piece wasn’t poisoned and ate that one, to make him believe they were all safe.

What was he thinking? Maybe he  _ was _ going mad, lack of enough food can cause all sorts of problems. Merlin is lucky to have gone this long, which was likely because even without magic, he was still not human.

Not human. Jonas was not human, and he seemed friendly enough with Gaius the night before. After he had left, Merlin couldn’t think of anything else. He wondered if Jonas was a slave, but that didn’t fit right. Some slaves were treated better than others, but none of those slaves were ever magic. His clothes were too nice, and he was too clean for him to be a slave. As unlikely as it seemed, in all appearances, Jonas was a free and valued servant; one that didn’t feel it necessary to hide his non-human features. The idea was so foreign to the world Merlin knew and had been raised to fear, and yet it was the reality staring him in the face.

Gwen started humming to herself again. A different tune from the last, this one faster, with notes that bounced from different pitches in quick bursts. Gaius turned his head a bit in her direction and smiled, before immersing himself back to his task, which Merlin assumed was physician related. Gwen was also occupied, she had picked up a feather duster from somewhere and was running it along an old bookshelf, standing on her toes to reach to top. Merlin looked down at the plate again. There was no talking himself out of his body’s need for food. Taking in a deep breath, Merlin picked up some of the cheese. He held it over his lap for a moment and played with it between his fingers, considering what he was about to do before bringing it to past his lips, nibbling on the edge first before swallowing it down. It didn’t taste like much, but it felt good to have something solid go down his throat. He continued to pick at the plate, tearing off a few pieces of bread every once in a while, but it was the tomato that was easiest. While Merlin had never particularly had a taste for it before, the hydration felt nice in his mouth. As it was however, he only managed about half the plate before his stomach started to churn, having grown accustomed to so little. Taking small sips of the water seemed to help, it was certainly the cleanest water Merlin had had in awhile.

Looking out one of the windows, it looked to be high noon. Despite the sunlight shining in, Merlin felt his eyes grow heavy. Surely no one would object to a sick person such as himself wanting to take a nap? Gwen and Gaius were still distracted, and the humming had lowered in volume somewhat, sounding much more relaxed. Merlin quietly shuffled back into a lying position, on his front this time, hugging the pillow against his face. ‘ _ Just a quick one _ ,’ he told himself.

xXx

“Ow.”

“Stop whining.”

“I’m not whining, I’m complaining. There’s a difference. One implies I’m weak, the other that you’re incompe-  _ OW _ !”

Arthur rolled his eyes at the pair while Leon chuckled. Elyan continued to pull splinters out of Gwaine’s palm with no further quallems. Using an old bench as a defense against Leon’s attack had not been his best idea, but it was far from the worst. At least this time the splinters were just in his hand.

“I think that’s all of them,” Elyan declared. Gwaine flexed his hand a few times.

“You think?” He repeated, eyes wide with concern.

“If there are any more they’ll come out on their own.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Leon teased with a big grin on his face, the sun casting odd shadows through the trees against his skin.

“I am  _ not _ going to Gaius again about this,” Gwaine scowled. Arthur braced his arm forearm up against a tree and leaned into it, tired out from the training. They all laughed at Gwaine’s expense, save for one.

“Percival,” Arthur called to the only other knight present. “You look like you have something on your mind, care to share your burdens?” Percival stood a few meters away with his arms crossed.

“Just Merlin,” he said. He sighed and looked away. “I just can’t believe someone could survive in those tunnels for more than a few minutes. We barely made it out last time, and we had each other — and a surplus of torches.”

“Maybe he just got lucky,” Gwaine suggested.

“Maybe he wasn’t alone,” Elyan countered. “He could’ve been with dozens of people for all we know.”

“Why would dozens of people go in those tunnels?” Leon asked. “It’s obvious he was trying to escape from something, no one even goes near them without a good reason.”

“It hardly matters now though, does it?” Arthur interrupted. “He’s here and he’s safe. And he was able to give us some valuable information.” Arthur stepped away from the tree. That’s all I care about, and I think for that we owe him a debt of gratitude.”

“Oh really,” Gwaine smirked. Leon shushed him harshly while Elyan’s eyes widened and he struggled to not smile.

“ _ What _ is that supposed to mean, Sir Gwaine?” Arthur challenged.

“Oh nothing,” Gwaine smirked, standing up. He took a few slow steps closer to Arthur. “But if you did, in a completely hypothetical way, care about Merlin just a  _ little _ bit more than you should.” He paused as he slapped a hand down on Arthur’s shoulder, “you should know, that you’re terrible at hiding your feelings, and we would definitely know.”

Arthur smiled in a grimacing way. “Get your hand off my shoulder.”

Gwaine stepped back, raising his palms. “I get it; you don’t want to talk about your feelings. It’s completely understandable. If I was-.”

Gwaine took off running, just managing to avoid the skilled swing of Arthur’s sword. The other knights just shook their heads and made their way back to the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers, I hope you're all staying safe in these crazy times, and that this update brightens your day, and if so you can brighten my day by leaving a comment, even the simple ones mean a lot. You're all wonderful and I hope you're doing well and staying positive! :D


	5. So Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this before I could talk myself into editing it even more 😭

It was generally accepted that everyone had a bad dream now and again; being a seer did not make Morgana any different. When she had the first nightmare, from which she awoke in a cold sweat, she convinced herself it was of no significance. As a result did not mention it to anyone, not even Sefa, her handmaiden. She did her best to not think about the dream at all (a simple task considering she hardly remembered it), as if ignoring its existence would aid in the dreams inability to torment her. It made no difference, the nightmare returned the next time she slept with a vengeance, bitter at having been cast aside and disregarded. She awoke screaming, nearly frightening poor Sefa to death. The girl was unfortunately lacking in experience dealing with Morgana after a particularly strong nightmare. Her healing bracelet had long since warded off the more unimportant and disturbing visions that she was plagued when she was younger. She was already free of them by the time Gwen married, and Sefa had become Morgana’s servant in her place. Sefa has been told by some of the castle staff and Morgana herself about her visions, and the fits of terror and depression they caused, but she had not been prepared that morning to witness such an occurrence for herself.

Morgana had been quite a sight, her face tear streaked and pale. Gone was the intrepid and charismatic lady that graced the castle with her presence. Sefa had greatly feared for Morgana’s health, her first thought was to run and fetch Gaius, but Morgana managed to convince her otherwise, instead surprising her servant by demanding to see Arthur. Sefa nearly had to restrain Morgana from running to find him herself while she called for some passing guards. It took a few minutes for Arthur to arrive, during which time Sefa managed to calm her somewhat, but it wasn’t until Arthur showed up that Morgana felt fully able to breathe again, and yet she was both unable and somewhat unwilling to articulate why. She spent the entirety of the day in her room, quietly thinking to herself despite Sefa’s attempts to cheer her up.

The third night had been no different, despite the potion Jonas had been kind enough to retrieve from Gaius. A closer look at the faces perhaps but no clues to their significance. Perhaps more frustrating than the existence of the dreams was the mysterious nature of them. In the past her visions seemed much clearer, events and objects of importance to them, but this time while she was sure it was the same dream, or at least similar in meaning, she could not seem to piece together or understand the few images she did remember.

The unease of leaving her chambers was still present, but sometime after lunch Morgana managed to put on a brave face and hurried out before she could change her mind. As she walked through the corridors she replayed the events in her head, trying to remember the contents of her dreams, why they would instill such feelings of dread upon her. Her need to see Arthur safe, the fear of leaving her room, as if there were a monster waiting for her outside.

She felt compelled to see Gaius herself. The sleeping draughts he prescribed were never much help, but they did not hurt any either. By taking them Morgana at least felt she was doing something. Tomorrow the diplomatic party would return from Caerleon, and the court sorceress with it. She would be much more qualified to help, but Morgana was not patient when I came to her visions. Sometimes it was hard to see them as a gift when deciphering them was so much trouble.

All of this led to her trip to Gaius’ chambers herself, with hope that he would at least have reassuring words to offer, if not a cure. The door was closed and she heard no sound from within, so she knocked gently. At Gaius’ muffled “Come in,” she pushed open the door, standing by it hesitantly.

“I hope I’m not intruding?” She wondered.

“No at all, my dear,” Gaius reassured, standing in front of a table with a book before him and a quill in his hand. “Come right in, just keep your voice down if you don’t mind, Merlin’s resting.” Gaius gestured slightly with the quill, Morgana gazed over to see the mysterious boy the castle continued to gossip about. For a moment all she saw was a frail and sickly child, when she managed to piece together his likeness. Her breath was pushed from her lungs as she stared at him with wide eyes. Dread pooled in her stomach, along with panic and nausea. What role he played was still unclear, but Morgana knew with certainty that this boy was one of the faces in her dream. Her dream was coming true.

“Now, how are you feeling this morning?” Gaius asked, placing the quill down and approaching completely oblivious to Morgana’s internal panic. “I take it by your presence here that the nightmares returned,” he continued solemnly.

“Yes,” Morgana said, nodding her head. She tried to push down her unease, but some of it still sounded on her voice.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Morgana insisted. “It’s just… it’s been so long since I’ve had to deal with this.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, she was no longer used to going about her days with little sleep to keep her going. But as much as she trusted Gaius, it was still hard even after all these years to be open about her abilities, hiding them was second nature.

“Does anything about them stand out?” Gaius wondered. Morgana hesitated, before tensely shaking her head.

“It’s too much,” she said before thinking. “I can’t piece any of it together, it’s like dozens of different things being shown all at once, and I don’t know what they mean,” she rambled. “They’re awful Gaius,” she whispered. Gaius stared into her glassy eyes, a feeling of impending doom beginning to form in his mind. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to…”

“It’s alright, my child,” Gaius eased. “It’s not the worst I’ve heard in my lifetime.” Morgana’s gaze was captured once again by Merlin, sleeping soundly in his cot. She shudders thinking about the horrible events that must’ve led up to his appearance, no doubt which was even worse before Gaius had intervened.

“Is he going to be alright?” Morgana asked in a hushed tone, unsure what answer she should be hoping for and guilty that she thought such things.

“I’ve done all I can. But I fear his healing will run much deeper than what I can treat.” They stood in silence for a moment, Gaius waiting for her to continue.

“Thank you Gaius,” Morgana said. “For always being here for me.”

“It’s my pleasure, Morgana,” he smiled. “Let me fix up something stronger for tonight, it’ll only take a moment.” He turned and left, heading to the far side of the room to gather supplies, giving Morgana time to collect herself. She sat at a table not far from where Merlin slept. If she were to turn her head she would see his sunken eyes and the way he sniffled as he dreamed. He unsettled her, even before she recognized him. His fate might’ve been hers under other circumstances, it nearly had been for a while… but she tried not to dwell on that time in her life.

For a few minutes all was peaceful, Morgana took calming breaths and focused on the sweet tasting air, almost chilled with the remnants of the cold season's farewell. She was grateful for the change of season, everyone always seemed so happy in the spring; a break between trudging through snow and the inevitable assault of summer heat. There would be a feast tomorrow. In the early morning everyone would return from Caerleon, court sorceress will return to her duties, Alice will be reunited with her husband and continue her work as Camelot’s best magical healer, and the kingdom will feel whole again. Morgana had not realized how anxious the mission had made her until the news of their success had been sent. How strange that a small note tied to the leg of a raven could send her into such euphoria. Queen Annis had long since stopped the persecution of sorcerers in her kingdom, but to actually embrace it the way Camelot had? It was a weight off her shoulders, knowing that Camelot was no longer the only refuge for those like her, that she would not only be safe within its borders, but welcome.

Morgana was broken from her thoughts, she looked over at the sound of a soft grunt, and saw Merlin wriggling in place, his eyes clenched shut as he quietly curled in on himself. Morgana spent several nights having nightmares of her own, but this was the first time experiencing them from this perspective. Merlin kicked his leg, as if trying to pathetically push the blankets to the floor.

Gaius was far enough away and the voice was soft enough that he didn’t notice the distress his patient was in. Morgana watched for a second longer as his expression contorted into one of deep pain. Just as she was about to step in (whether to attract Gaius’ attention or wake him herself, she wasn’t sure) when he suddenly went still. Morgana felt her own breath falter and she watched for the steady rise of his chest, the only lasting sign that he was still alive. Even with his staggered breathing, Morgana would’ve sooner believed he was a corpse. While his release from the slave traders could have been carried out better (she had already spoken with Gwaine), there was no question they had gotten to him in the nick of time.

xXx

Gwen rushed into Gaius’ chambers, not bothering to lower her voice since she saw that Merlin was awake and sitting up. “I’m sorry Gaius, I got caught up b-.”

“There’s no need to fret Gwen,” Gaius interrupted, looking both fond and amused. “You’re hardly late, there’s no rush with these things.”

“I know,” She panted, throwing her shall over the chair she occupied last night. “It’s just that I know you and Alice have a system and-.”

“Guinevere.” Gaius placed his hands on her arms and studied her. “Take a deep breath.” Gwen tilted her head and pursed her lips, a smirk tugging at its corners; but then straightened out and did as she was told, taking a deep gulp of air through her nose and out her mouth, closing her eyes as she did so. Merlin watched with curiosity. They behaved as though he wasn’t even there, or at the very least as if his presence was no hindrance to their interaction. When she had first entered her tone and expression had made his hackles rise at expectant danger. Before he recognized Gaius’ tone as non-confrontational, he half expected him to become angry and violent. Instead he’d reacted with amusement and understanding, another thing that was foreign to Merlin. He was so used to being hated and abused, it was actually quite… disturbing, to be faced with an alternative. No matter how unpleasant, Merlin felt comfort in things he could predict; without that consistency, he was lost.

Gaius left a few minutes later, telling Gwen where he’d be in the case of an emergency. Merlin stretched while she was turned away, it had been a very long time since he had been able to move about freely. Weeks spent leaning against metal bars hadn’t been good for his back. And while his head definitely felt clearer at the moment, his body was still weak. Gaius didn’t deem him well enough to move about yet. While his ankle was almost completely healed, it felt incredibly sensitive and tingly with any pressure. Merlin was starting to grow bored of his cot, but more than that he was growing bored of Camelot. Waiting for someone to snap and end the game; waiting to be found out, waiting to be recaptured by the person he fears most in the world, waiting, waiting, waiting. Merlin needed to move. Waiting for something to change was dangerous, letting things happen on their own was hazardous. He needed to be in control, not have any loose ends.

Merlin clenched his fists, sighing. He looked towards Gwen where she sat on the steps to the upper platform, and saw her thoroughly captured by the book she was reading. Her posture was angled towards him, but her eyes never lifted from the pages. Now was just as good an opportunity as any to flee, and it was best to leave now when it was all new. The people would have no effect on him and he would have no effect on the people. That was the way Merlin would prefer it stayed. Gwen’s head turned away the slightest amount as she turned to the next page, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was charging from his cot and towards the door. Pain shot up his leg, but he pushed it down.

“Merlin!” Gwen cried in surprise just as he pulled the door open, letting it slam behind him. He didn’t stop to think about what direction he should go, any direction that took him away from the physicians chambers would work. He ran down a corridor to the left, pushing off the wall every few paces for support. His heart beat so loud in his ears he hardly registered the creek of the door opening as Gwen followed. His dry lungs burned with the need to rest and his body ached from the effort of exerting himself after being confined for so long. Fortunately Gwen was not charged with the blind instinct and adrenaline Merlin had learned to rely on, helping him to have the advantage. Unfortunately, Merlin was not blessed with the knowledge of the buildings layout. He darted around two corners, his head spinning both figuratively and literally as he assessed what little he could as he ran looking for an exit. Not twenty seconds after he first burst from the chambers, he spotted a decent sized window just a few meters ahead. He heard Gwen calling something in the background as he zeroed in and ran, skidding to a halt just in time after realizing just how high up they were. There were people down below walking in the grass, looking so small for a moment he could have mistaken them for insects. While Merlin was not particularly afraid of great heights, coming to the edge of one so unexpectedly made him stumble back and nearly lose his footing. The sound of Gwen’s shoes not far behind compelled him to again start running.

The corner of Merlin’s vision was dimmed and his breathing obscured all other sounds. Suddenly he spotted what could only be a descending staircase, and his heart leapt into his throat at the sight. His eyes zeroed in and his chest pounded from his racing heart. Then at the very last moment a figure rounded the corner, and Merlin collided into it with a force that by all rights should have sent the two of them to the floor. Instead Merlin felt himself be grabbed by two strong hands that held him in place while the person regained their footing. Merlin felt his magic surface once again, his eyes glowed bright gold as he stared into prince Arthur’s strained expression. He gritted his teeth and breathed heavily, frustrated and willing to fight. But with his magic came white pain as the cuffs around his wrist branded themselves deeper into his skin. Spots danced in front of his vision as his legs buckled beneath him. He struggled weakly against Arthur’s grip, who helped guide him to the floor. Merlin struggled to pull his burning wrists to his chest and Arthur adjusted his grip on his arms to allow the action. It only took a moment for Merlin to lose his battle against his restraints, his eyelids falling closed and his head dropping forward as his body went limp. Taking note of the smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air, Arthur pulled him closer and lifted him from the ground just as Gwen rounded the corner. He pulled Merlin up, securing one arm around his shoulders before reaching down and hooking his other one under Merlin’s knees. Being as gentle as he could, he lifted Merlin off the ground, noting that he seemed much too light even when considering his frail state. Gwen led the way back to Gaius’ chambers, checking over her shoulder constantly in case Arthur needed her to step in.

After opening the door for him to enter, Arthur ordered: “Go fetch Gaius.” Gwen nodded and hurried out, fisting her hands in her dress. Arthur barely had enough time to set Merlin down in the nearest cot before he stirred and immediately picked up where his consciousness had left off, trying to push Arthur away. Although the cot Merlin now occupied was much closer to the door than the previous one he had been occupying, the knight who happened to be three times his present weight posed a much greater obstacle. Of course, he was never one to give in so easily. As soon as Arthur stepped back (hoping his distance would pacify Marlin) he was up again, trying to push past him. “Don’t-!” Arthur grabbed him by the arm, using Merlin’s momentum to pull him around and in front of the cot again. Merlin, skinny as he was, managed to keep himself up as Arthur tried to push him back down onto the cot. The whole situation had long since gone from frightful to frustrating, and Merlin started focusing his attention towards Arthur instead of the exit. While not in the chain mail Merlin was used to seeing him in, Arthur wore a thick brown jacket that protected his shoulders, despite his digging grip. Merlin pushed back against him with all his might (the little of it he had) and scratched harshly at the base of Arthur’s neck and collarbone. Arthur sucked in a breath through his teeth, but before Merlin could feel pride in getting a reaction, Arthur managed a skillful scuff of his foot behind Merlin’s good ankle, causing his weight to be held up solely by his still-healing ankle. He dropped backwards onto the cot, but caught himself with his hands braced behind him. This time Arthur didn’t give him the chance to get up, crouching down and holding Merlin by the shoulders. Merlin tried to jerk and twist out of the grip, but found he was entirely secure and powerless. He felt his magic once again bubbling beneath his skin, this time with the slow simmer of growing anger rather than lashing out blindly. He eased his struggling and sat up straight, taking deep panting breaths to calm himself as his eyes flashed gold once again. The two young men stared into each other’s eyes, one pair glossy blue, the other fiery yellow. Arthur stared into the golden rings before flickering his gaze to the cuffs binding Merlin’s wrists where the runes glowed red, thought not nearly as brightly as they had before. Merlin felt himself sway as little spots appeared in his vision and his eyes dimmed to their dormant blue, and he shut his eyes tightly and winced as the pain in his wrists finally registered. The only force holding him up from falling to the cot was Arthur’s hands gripping his shoulders. He took deep breaths as he reopened his eyes. Arthur’s face momentarily betrayed curiosity and concerns before he refocused on keeping Merlin secure, a mask of authority appearing.

“Alright now?” Arthur asked gently. For a moment he believed Merlin would yield, maybe even let Arthur take a look at his wrists. Instead, Merlin managed a well aimed kick. His bare, boney foot hit Arthur right in his side, nearly sending him to the floor and forcing the air from his lungs. Merlin jumped up and pushed Arthur further back, but Arthur managed to keep hold with one hand as Merlin tried to pull himself free. They became a tangle of struggling limbs but in the end Arthur won out and managed to get Merlin back onto the cot, but Merlin’s continued attempts to break for the door kept Arthur restraining him.

“You really don’t know when to quit do you?” Arthur grunted.

Merlin would never be quite sure why what happened next made him freeze up. Maybe shock, because it was not what he intended, maybe it was fear that Arthur would retaliate, or perhaps a mixture of both; but when his elbow somehow jerked back into Arthur’s nose, causing the prince to completely let go, fall back onto the floor, and cradled his nose as blood pooled in his hand, Merlin went still and just waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much to those of you who have waited patiently for this chapter! I’ve had some significant life changes the last few months, you know how life sweeps you away sometimes. And thank you for all the wonderful comments you made last chapter, those really keep fanfic stories like this alive <3

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you’ve enjoyed it so far! I love all feedback and really appreciate the encouragement your comments give me <3


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